


Heartbeat for the Dead

by FlamingTrashcan



Category: Fire Emblem, fire emblem awakening
Genre: Chrobin - Freeform, Fire Emblem Awakening - Freeform, M/M, Mild Gore, Pining, risen Chrom, risen Chrom AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamingTrashcan/pseuds/FlamingTrashcan
Summary: Robin is suffering from a case of unrequited love--at least from the living Chrom. But on a walk one night, he finds a creature wandering the grounds of Castle Ylisse. Unbeknownst to him, it hails from the future, and still has a mission to carry out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place like literally a day before Emmeryn's assassination attempt. i havent played this game in 2 years. will i even continue this idfk man. yknow what fuck it if this hits 1000 hits then i'll finish the second part. maybe fucking add a third chapter and take it places. how did this get attention what
> 
> edit: motherfucker

“Ugh.” 

It was the middle of the night, and Robin hadn’t slept a wink. He lay in the fluffy bed Chrom had provided for him, alone in the loosely decorated guest room of Castle Ylisse. The darkness no longer kept him blind, for his eyes had long adjusted to it, and he could make out every blurry piece of furniture and painting. They stood silent, inanimate, mocking him with the very thing he was denied: sleep. 

Robin let out a groan and rolled over, gripping his blankets with one hand and sliding his other arm under the pillow. He couldn’t remember sleeping on anything more comfortable. These were pillows fluffed for royalty, blankets made by eloquent hands, sheets kept clean and fresh by servants every morning. Yet never before had his body felt so restless, so unable to relax--at least, not that he could remember. 

He closed his eyes again, but it did him no good. Lying still felt impossible. For another impossibly long stretch, he rolled over again and again, never able to find a proper position. Eventually, Robin let out a frustrated exhale and threw the blankets back. Still in his loose white pajamas, Robin slid out of bed and pulled on his cloak along with a pair of boots. He held the cloak closed with one fist, and made for the door. 

A midnight stroll would hopefully work out some of this newfound energy. The passageways of Castle Ylisse were lit with sconces, and framed by stone railings. He placed a hand on one, the coolness of it colliding with the warmth of his body. The night was a cold one, and he shivered under his single layer.

In truth, Robin was a stranger to the layout of the castle. What he knew was that the room he occupied sat by the edge of the castle, near the gardens. He walked alone, for on this chilly night even the guards seemed to be missing. The foliage of trimmed trees which formed the gardens beside the castle gradually neared, then fell back again, until they broke to form a small, round clearing. The stalwart railing gave way to three small steps, leading down into a tiny, neat garden. He paused in his walk, and looked into the darkness.

A place for relaxation, for being alone with one's thoughts. It was surrounded by bushes, patched with soft pink blooms. Their leaves were a dark contrast to the gentle petals. Beneath them, gatherings of hooded blue flowers stood, bowing their heads in respect to no one. A polished quartz bench sat at the opposite end, facing the small staircase. Miniature barriers of tiny flowers stood by each side, gradually expanding to join the others. And encircling it all were the trees, low branches providing a small canopy. The moonlight shone down, illuminating uneven patches of grass.

Robin gradually approached it, looking around in admiration. It was such a lovely alcove that felt so far from reality...he wondered if he could convince Chrom to join him here, and sit besides him, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s presence. He eventually sank onto the frigid bench, resting his chin on his hand and staring into the pure pools of light from the moon. 

“Chrom…” he whispered, letting himself float off into his own world. Chrom, his beautiful Chrom, in a garden like this, free from the judgement of others and free from the burdens they both carried. It felt sappy, it always had, but it was all he wanted. Just to hold his hand and have his gaze returned. For the same love to be conveyed in those dreamy eyes. For Chrom to gaze at him, and spend time with him, instead of…

His dreamy expression faded, replaced with a sad frown. The moonlight felt cold and pale, awakening him to a cruel reality. No, this place held nothing but reality in it. The reality that Chrom did not, and would not, love him in the same way. 

“Why, then?” He asked aloud, looking to his marked hand. He remembered reaching forward to Chrom’s own, and seeing that odd brand. Something about it had always felt off to him. A certain radiance seemed to shroud it, and though it should remind him of Chrom, it did the odd opposite. 

Staring at it made his head hurt. In the darkness it almost seemed to let off a purple glow. Perhaps if he stared into that glow long enough, the fog of his mind would eventually clear, and he’d recall something about his previous life.

A breeze blew his hair back, prompting a shiver. He pulled his hood up, deciding it was about time to return. If anything, the night air had only left him more awake, and a bit more depressed, as well. 

“Lord...Grima…” 

The sound was chilling, cold as the night air and dead as fallen leaves. He froze, having taken only one step. The voice had called from behind him. His head turned, quivering eyes meeting with a set of unwavering red. In the dark, they glowed like coals. 

He recognized those immediately. A Risen. And right when he’d neglected to bring a tome with him. His hand instinctively moved to where his sword should’ve been to find it missing as well. Alone and unarmed in a desolate place, facing an enemy known for violence and ruthlessness. It was large, taller than him by at least a head. In the shadows it stood, but he could just make out the outline of a pale face, and alongside that, the white gleam of armor. 

He’d never seen such a type before, but in no way did he trust it. Continuing to face off, he carefully stepped back, never once wandering from those bright red eyes. And they never wandered from his. The Risen did not move, seeming to regard him, an odd choice for an undead creature known for violence. 

His foot tapped down upon the first step. The Risen jerked at the broken silence. An inhuman roar bellowed forth as the creature drew its sword.

Robin shrieked and bolted. “RISEN! THERE’S A RISE--”

He was cut off by his own cloak jerking back. His hood was torn from him. Painful pricks dug into his scalp. The Risen lifted him by his head, cold breath sending goosebumps down his neck. It turned his body to look him straight in the eye.

“C-Chrom?!” 

No, that was impossible! Chrom was in the castle, sleeping peacefully on the best bed in the kingdom! He was surrounded by guards, servants, family...there was no way he could be a Risen! There was no way he could be--!

Its eyes were red and empty, the characteristic warmth they’d carried extinguished. In their place was a cold flame, forcefully forged by a resurrector. The skin was too pale to be human, clinging desperately to the bone beneath it. Its blue hair had been swept back, a black crown made of spearlike points gouged into its head. The armor it wore had been white, decorated with gold engravings, but now it was tainted with rust and cracks, stains both organic and inorganic. And by the creatures side, a sword large as Falchion, but it in no way resembled the divine blade. Eyes as red as the ones which bore into him lined it like gemstones.

This was a monster, clear as day. And yet, he couldn’t deny the truth of its identity. The very man he pined over every night was holding him by his head and glaring him in the face. The very man who he vowed to protect, to prevent any form of harm coming to, had turned into this undead beast.

“C-Chrom...what happened to you?” He whimpered. The monster’s eyes narrowed, and its grip released. Robin let out a yelp as he hit the grass and immediately stumbled back, about to break into a run when the creature kneeled.

“Lord...Grima...at long last…” It bowed its head, and laid the sword before it. Robin blinked, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“Grima…? Lord? Chrom...what do you mean by that?” He should be running. He should abandon this prospect right now and make for the nearest populated area. Why was he standing here speaking to a Risen and let alone one that shouldn’t exist, oh gods what had become of his beloved Chrom to turn him into this?

“Lord...Grima...you...here…” It winced as if struck. “Power...power...need...please…”

“Power? You need power? What’s that supposed to mean?” He shook his head. “You’re not making any sense! Gods, I’m not making any sense!” He spun on his heel to bolt--and immediately tripped over the stairs. His vision spun as his forehead cracked against the hard stone.

The Risen let out a screech. Robin heard its heavy footsteps run to his side...it had come to finish him off. He could feel hot blood running down his face and head, forcing one of his eyes closed. The world shifted, the gray of the stairs to the jewel-speckled blanket of the night sky. And just beneath them, the pale face with the glowing red eyes.

Something slipped under his legs and back. The ground vanished, and he was held to the Risen’s chest. The rusty color seemed so much darker, so much redder. It spread like a dye, coloring his entire vision. His eyes closed, the only reprieve from the blood. The world was too cold; he could feel himself going numb. Along his head, something cold and slimy ran against his wounds. He shivered, body convulsing in the arms of the Risen.

It let out a low, inhuman rumble. But if he focused hard enough, he could hear it as Chrom’s. He took the little comfort he could get, and let his mind drift back into that dream. 

Alone with Chrom, in a garden. It’s warm, but not so much that they can’t stand being besides each other. He’s leaning against him, falling more and more in love with him every time he points at a funny little flower. His heartbeat is soothing, a reminder he’s alive and well, a reminder of the promise Robin made when he’d fallen for him. 

A tiny smile formed on his unconscious face, pressed against the silent chest of the Risen. 

\------------------------

W̨̡h̢̢a̕t ҉a̢̡ ̛s̴͞h̨̧͠a̡͟m̡̕͡e̵.̡͠ ͞T̡h̨e̵҉ ̷̸͞m҉҉a̧n w̴͜h͡͡o̢̧͢ o̶nç̛e͡ ̨͡o̶w͝n͡e̴d thi͜ş̢͝ b̢͟o̕d̷͟͡y̡ ̵̨l̷̢o҉̕v҉e̶d͝ ̨̨͝y͠ou ̸s͝o͘ ̸m̷̡u͘͘҉ç̢͡h̡.͝.̨.̛ą̸n̵̸̕d y̢e͏t,̕ ̴̶f̷͢ro̡͝m̴͡ ̧͘th̡̛e̷ ̧̛͠m̡iser͘͏y͏̧ ̢̧͟lo͡c̷k̷̨͘e̢d̨̡ w̧i͜t͝h͡i̷͞n ̸h̴͝i͠m̧,̧ ̴h̡̛i̸s҉̵ ̴̧͢l̡̛͘o͜͡v͜҉e̡҉ ̷w̵̧a̧̕s u̶n̶͏r͝e͡͞q͢u͡i̶͢͢t̶͞ę͘͡d.͢͡ ҉̕A̵̷n̢̨͝ǫ̸͢th͜͏̢e̸͜r ͜t̛e͡͏͏s̴̢t̨͞i̕m͠͝͞o̢̕n̛͝y͏͢ ̵t̶̢̕o y̕our͟ ̡r̢͟͞ep̴ų͢lsi͜v̢̕͡en̢es̕s͏.͝ Yo̢̨u̷,̕͞ ̧͝͝w̕h͘o͢ ͏̕w̸͢͞o̧͏u̸l̸d ̕͟s̵t̶͡a͟͜͝n̷̨̨d by͝ ̛͡a̴̡ņ̴d͜͡ ̢̢̛wi͞t̵̡͝nes̸̕͟s̴ t̶̕he̸ ͝m͟a̛ny̵ ̛w͞h͜͏͢o̸̢ ͏a̡͝d͝o̕r̴̕e̛d̸̵̨ ̵͡͠y̧͢o͡u͝ ͢͟͝s̨̡͠u͟f͘͘f̷̛̛e͝r̛.̶.̕.͞yo̸̢u̶ ̷̵w͢͞͝i͢l҉ļ͝͞ ̶n̡o̢͘͢w͝ ̛͟s͘t͡a̸n̨d͢͝ ̕̕b͟y͘ ͠͠m̷̶̨e, ̡̕͢a̴͢͞s̵͠ ҉̧͏t͏͟͡h̶e͜͡ ҉o͜͝͝n̷͠e̷͡ ̢͠w̢͝h͠o ̶̕giv̵̕͜e͘s̸ ̵̷̷an̴̷̨d̢ ͏̧n͟e̴v͢e͠r ̡̢r̨͏҉ęc̸҉ei͜͡v̷͢es̛͢͢.̨ ̨L͜e͜͜t͠ ͘͢t͝h̶̨is̛͢ ̕͟b̸ȩ͞ ͏̕yo̶u̷͞r͏͘ ̕͢p̷u͘n͞is̛̕͝h̨m͘e̢n͘҉t͜.̢͢..̕͡hm̴̷̨?̷̨̛ ̶͞T͢͏͞ea͏̵͟r͜ş͜? ̴̢҉F̶̛r͟ǫ̶͢m͢ m̕y ̷o͘͢͏w̧̛n̵ f̷͟a̷c̶ę̛͜?̛͟ ͞͏Hǫw͏ ̢p̷̢̕e͘c̵̨͝u͢͢͞l͟ia̢r̕͡.҉҉̸ ͞͡C͜e̸̕a͏̡͠se̴ ̷y̷o̡u̴̢r̢ ̴̡҉e̷̵m̢͝ot͞i̷̵o̡n̢s͜͟,̧̡͟ for̷͡ ̛̛t̢͟͠h̨͝͞ęy ̷͘cơ̢̨m̧e̛͜҉ ̵tǫo̕ ̡l̷҉̧a̷̶te̸.̧͝

̴N̸o͢͞w̴̴ ͝ari҉̶s̶e͞, ̷͝M̧o͞n͜a̧r͘҉c҉͘h̛̛ ҉͝ǫ̸͜f͜ ̷D͘͢e̸̶͡s̢p̢̛a̕i̡̕r͟.̵.

 

Robin’s eyes shot open, that distorted voice still ringing in his head. Monarch of Despair? The man who once owned this body? It...it was talking about him, and he knew it. Then, did that make Chrom…?

A dull but hot pain in the front of his head spurred him to close his eyes once more. It began to throb, but the pain decreased with each pulse. Eventually, he was able to crack his eyes open once more.

The color of the sky had changed. No longer did a cover of darkness make its claim on the air above. It had been broken by streaks of orange, turning into a mix of deep purple clouds. The sun was just beginning to rise.

And the Risen was carrying him. It was still, staring straight ahead. His awakening hasn't fazed the creature in the slightest.

No, not ‘the creature’. It was...he was, Chrom. Distorted and dead, but still, it was him.

“Chrom?” He asked quietly, the words just ghosting off his lips. Just the speech made his head hurt. 

Those red eyes shot down to look at him. When he lowered his head, the bones made a sickening crunch.

“Lord Grima.” He said nothing more, but continued to stare, waiting for orders.

“Could...could you put me down?” 

Chrom immediately dropped to his knees and set Robin down on the hooded flowers. He remained kneeling even when Robin stood, and bowed his head. 

Despite the gentleness with which he’d been placed, Robin still felt a jab of annoying pain. When he stood, it left him dizzy. 

“So...Chrom…” He managed, eyes flitting over Chrom’s body. “How did you...get...like this?”

Without raising his head, he spoke. “Fate...cannot be changed. All fools. Lord Grima...always... always for Lord Grima...kill...lead...bleed...die...hunt...follow...obey.”

Robin furrowed his brows in concern, trying to make sense of that nonsense. “Chrom...that’s not helpful. Can...can you not remember?”

His head shot up, eyes locking with Robin’s. “I am the Undead Monarch of Despair. Forever will I serve my Lord Grima. My body, my sword, my power, all for Lord Grima.”

The change from gibberish to comprehensive sentences sent a chill through Robin. So Chrom was fully capable of understand what he said, and fully capable of responding. If he didn’t know better, he may feel that this Chrom was no Risen, but an alternate version, whose ideals had been flipped. 

“Who is this ‘Lord Grima’?” Chrom’s eyes flickered with a slight confusion, the first sign of any kind of emotion. He didn’t speak, but raised a clawed finger to Robin. “I...see. Then...Chrom, do you mean to tell me that you are a servant to me?”

“All for Lord Grima. All for Lord Grima. All for Lord Grima.” Over and over he droned the words out, until Robin raised a hand for him to stop. 

Chrom was dead. Something he couldn’t comprehend had happened to him, and apparently Robin himself had something to do with it. But Robin had never hurt Chrom, nor had he ever witnessed his death, nor had he ever practiced a spell to convert a corpse into a Risen. Yet somehow, he was apparently responsible, and the proof of what had happened to Chrom was right before him.

And the knowledge of that hit him harder than the pain in his head. 

“Chrom…I don’t know how this happened. I’m sorry, I have no memory of this.” He reached down to lift Chrom’s chin, gritting through the pain of movement. “But you...I don’t want this for you. No one deserves this, especially not someone as great as you.”

He detected not an ounce of regret, sorrow, or forgiveness in Chrom’s eyes. Only the fierce glow of those red coals, reflecting the burned state of his soul. 

“You command...to leave?”

“No! I’m not commanding you to do anything!” 

“You do not want this.”

“Of course not!”

“Then...if not...what? Command...command...orders...my Lord Grima…”

Robin grit his teeth. “I’m not this Grima, whatever monster that may be! My name is Robin.”

“Robin. Lord Robin.” Chrom blinked. “Robin…” He took to repeating it, as if it was some distant memory he was striving so hard to grasp from the void of forgetfulness.

Robin sighed. “Yes, Chrom, my name is Robin. Please call me by that.” His logical sense told him it was the transformation into a Risen, yet Chrom had recognized his face, so why not his name? Had he not cared enough to remember his name? Or did it have something to do with this Grima?

“Chrom, please stand. I don’t see you as a servant, and there’s no way to continue to act like one. Tell me, are you sure you can’t remember this ‘Grima’?” 

He arose, but kept his head bowed.“Lord Grima. Before me. I will obey, obey…”

He should’ve figured he wouldn’t get anything else out of him. Robin let out a low groan and looked around. Seeing as they were still in the garden, which was entirely untouched, the guards must’ve failed to patrol properly the night before. But looking at Chrom, perhaps it was for the best. No one would react well to seeing their leader transformed into a Risen. Luckily, though, that gave him an opportunity. 

He scanned the passages leading deeper into Castle Ylisse, and found them free of guards. Turning to Chrom, he gestured for the Risen to approach--which he did. Yet another sign of higher intelligence. 

“Orders, orders, orders…” he whispered, moving a hand to his sword. His head turned from side to side, scanning the area for any sign of prey, and thick streams of drool began to leak from between his lips. 

Robin took a step away, raising a hand instinctively. “Er...follow me. And be as quiet as possible, okay? No attacking anything.” He checked one last time and set off to run, but a throb in his head broke his pace into nothing but a slow walk.

Chrom let out what sounded to be a confused growl, but he followed after Robin at an inhuman pace, surpassing him more than once while just walking. His boots were loud, and sent echoes throughout the castle. It was a miracle they made it back to Robin’s room without anyone spotting them--explaining why a Risen version of Chrom was following him was something no one could fake. 

Robin locked the door behind them, and let out a quiet exhale. Behind him, Chrom chirped with confusion. His head snapped around, eyes flitting between the objects. To Robin’s great surprise, he marched to the bed, unsheathed his sword, and stuck it into the ground, resting both hands on the pommel and raising his chin. 

“Are you guarding my bed?” Robin asked with a slight chuckle, sliding his cloak off and hanging it over a chair. Another dull throb. “Chrom, no one will get us in here. You can relax.”

“Protect...protect…” He once more scanned the area for threats. “By the throne…”

The smile that had begun forming on Robin’s face vanished. “Chrom...I’m not a royal, you don’t need to do this. In...in fact, I command you to relax.” He kicked off his boots and sat on the edge of the bed. “Come on, sit!”

Chrom blinked, observing his master curiously. Gradually, his claws released, and he sheathed his sword. His gait was stiff as he approached, entire body tense as he plopped next to Robin. 

“Er...relax, Chrom. You don’t need to wear your armor or keep your sword on you right now.”

“Don’t...wear...armor?” Sudden realization flickered across his eyes. “Serve. Pleasure. For Lord Grima.” Muttering those words over and over, Chrom stood and immediately began removing his armor. But he didn’t stop there. Robin only caught himself and ordered Chrom to stop when he’d already torn off his shirt and breastplate.

And there it was. The fatal wound, what appeared to be an enormous stab, pierced right through Chrom’s chest. The area had closed and cauterized, but it was still red as blood.

“Who did that?” Robin gasped, pointing to the wound. Chrom glanced down at it, unwavering, and shook his head. “Well...it doesn’t hurt, does it? Do you remember anything from it…?”

For the first time, Chrom looked to be in genuine pain. “Pain...hot...burns...then cold…” He trailed off still staring at the wound. 

Robin winced. “Gods, Chrom. I’m sorry, don’t try to remember any more. Just...relax?”

The bed creaked from their combined weight. Chrom stared blankly at the floor, while Robin could only focus on that terrible wound. Guilt weighed him down, he’d seen Chrom with that wound before...but only in what must’ve been a hallucination. And now, proof of its existence stared him in the face. But when had it occurred?

All of this made his brain hurt. It didn’t make any sense. Chrom couldn’t have been killed or the castle would be in panic. In fact, the castle was quieter than ever, quite a contrast. Then, what was this Chrom here? And how was he created, a Risen with more than just the basic instinct of kill?

An exasperated moan escaped him and he fell back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The movement immediately spurred another throb, from which he flinched and closed his eyes. 

A heavy fwump next to him alerted him to Chrom echoing his movement. His heavier weight caused Robin to slide next to him, warm living flesh pressing against the cold and dead. But...even so, it was Chrom’s. It was insane, he felt insane for thinking it, but even though he was lying next to a Risen...it was Chrom, his beloved Chrom, and despite the horrible reality of the situation, the less sane areas of his mind wanted him to be near. He dared crack his eyes open and glance over, seeing those glowing red eyes focused on the ceiling above. 

“Oh, Chrom…” he whispered, a slight prick forming in his eyes. “I’m sorry it ended like this…”

He registered a heavy turn, a cold arm draping over his body and drawing him close. But there was no expression in those eyes. 

“Rest. Please yourself. For Lord Grima.” A voice without emotion. A chest without a heartbeat. A creature without a master, a body without a soul. No one deserved this, least of all Chrom. And here he was, condemned to it by the cruelty of the world. 

Robin wrapped his arms around Chrom as best he could and closed his eyes, tears stealing out.

“I’m sorry, Chrom, I’m so sorry…"


	2. Welp a promise is a promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeah so anyways i promised and here it is. probably won't continue it sorry, school and life are kicking my ass and it's hard to stare at a screen for prolonged periods of time. i started writing this a while ago and dropped it, then picked it up, so you'll probably see a big style shift. anyways yeet take the trash

He didn’t know when he passed out. Robin wouldn’t have thought it possible again, considering he’d been out cold for most of the night. Yet he was aware of regaining consciousness, something he could only retrieve if he’d lost. How long ago, he wasn’t able to know, locked away in this room with his Chrom.

His Chrom... the words formed a blanket of warm knowledge over his mind. His eyes opened to slits, finding that his position had changed. His body had curled up, and Chrom had remained next to him the entire time, shifting his own form so Robin could remain close to him. It resulted in his face pressing right against Chrom’s pectorals, causing a light blush to rise on his face. On his shoulder he could feel cold flesh where a face pressed into his skin. His arms were wrapped around Chrom’s lower abdomen, just inches above his nethers. His hands traced up his back, pulling him closer.

Chrom didn’t react to his movement. Since he didn’t have breath or a pulse, it was impossible for Robin to tell if he was awake or not. Risen, as far as he knew, did not sleep. But at the same time, Risen did not bleed, which Chrom did; Risen did not speak, which Chrom did; and Risen barely were able to comprehend the basic information of what was before them. Chrom was a special Risen, so close to being human, and yet so far from it.

“Chrom?” He whispered sleepily, raising his head to try and see his face. Something warm dripped down his own, inducing a confused shake.

At the sound of his voice, Chrom let out a low rumble. The arms holding him close released their grip. He uncurled from his state and laid still besides Robin, expression blank, red eyes locked onto him. 

At the loss of his love Robin let out a whine, trying and failing to pull Chrom close once more. The blankets covering him alleviated the cold that came with dead flesh, in fact he found that they quite balanced it out. The warmth his own body provided, with its beating heart and flowing blood, was a perfect polar opposite to Chrom’s frozen pulse and stale fluids. 

“Chroooom,” he complained, tugging on him once more, “don’t leave me already...please…”

Really, who was to say this wasn’t a dream? That Chrom would simply walk out, never to be heard of again? It didn’t feel real, it didn’t make sense, so how could it not be so?

Chrom’s cold hands slid under his arms, crossed over his spine, and pulled him close. Cold clashed with hot, causing goosebumps to spread over his body. But he found himself smiling, happy to be so close to Chrom once more. He was real, his Chrom was here with him, lying besides him and holding him close. Robin closed his eyes and rested his head against his shoulder, shifting his body to close any space between them.

He heard a low squelch, and Chrom let out a low whimper. The tiniest indicator of pain. A disgusting, slimy wetness coated his chesr. Slowly, he drifted back, and slowly, he opened his eyes to look down.

He’d laid right on Chrom’s deadly wound, and it now pulsed like a dying heart. The beat was slow, too slow to be alive. With each pulse, he saw thick, dark blood ooze out. It crept out like worms, seeming to defy the force that anchored them to the earth. Over the pale flesh it crawled, twitching and writhing for but a moment before straying too far and devolving into slime. 

Robin immediately let go of Chrom and jerked away, trying not to gag. Chrom watched him with blank eyes as he sat up and held a hand to his mouth in an attempt to prevent vomiting--only for his hand to come away with a dark rust. Robin’s stomach twisted as he realized that he’d been laying on the wound all night, coating his head in undead blood. 

And the smell that came off of it...gods, he must’ve gone blind to it because of exposure, but now, with just the slightest amount of distance, it rose to sting his eyes and burn his nostrils. It reeked of undead flesh, but mixed in there was a striking odor like vinegar and the sourness of bodily fluids from the lowest places. 

He couldn’t stop himself from vomiting, barely catching himself as he hunched over the sheets. Burning fluid spilled from his lips to further stain the blankets. The yellowish stains of bile mixed with the dark blood of an undead monster. Robin spat forth another stream, his eyes stinging with tears from the burning in his mouth and nostrils. The rancid stenches in the air only served to provoke another burst. He miserably hung his head, lips trembling and clear fluid falling to meet its hideous ancestors.

A cold hand met his hot shoulder. Through blurry eyes he saw Chrom’s pale flesh, red eyes breaking through the barrier created. His body felt lifeless, arms giving out beneath him. But he never hit the mix of bodily fluids. An arm caught him, pulling his body away from the blend, and right into the heart that had caused it all. 

Robin shrieked and immediately shoved Chrom back. His body didn’t budge, but he took the order from his master clearly: release. 

He was aware of hitting the ground, which brought him back to reality. Chrom was looking down at him, head cocked to the side, confusion lighting his eyes up. Thin ichor was beginning to fall from his wound, drawn downwards by the force of gravity. 

Robin groaned and raised his hand, looking at the icky mark on it. Blood stained it, blotting out half of the eyes. His body felt sticky. The substance had gotten all over his chest and face. He’d need a bath, for both his sanity and physical health. And Chrom...well, he couldn’t just leave him to be stained with bile and blood. 

Swallowing the next flood of bile, Robin stood on wobbly legs. His first few steps were away from Chrom, who watched him unblinking, and to his chair. His coat had been slung over it; hopefully, it would hide the stains on his clothes and body. The dark fabric covered his whole body as he pulled it shut. Then, he turned to Chrom. 

The disgusting smell still made his eyes water. “Chro--Chrom,” he managed to choke out, before catching himself and forcing another wave of bile down, “stand, stand, up, please. And follow.”

Chrom stiffly jumped to his feet. He was still stripped, wearing his pants and nothing else. Robin bit his lip. 

“We can’t go out like that...come on, let’s get your clothes back on.” He bent to pick up a discarded black shirt. Chrom tilted his head.

“Clothes...back...on? Clothes.” He observed Robin picking up his discarded items and copied, plucking up the garments he’d dropped. Without a set area to place them, though, Chrom simply held them in his arms, beginning to struggle as he moved onto his armor. 

Robin luckily caught him at that point. “Wah--? Chrom, you don’t have to pick up your armor!” He took a step forward, gagged. “Put...put it down, on the bed, please.” 

Chrom obeyed. Solid pieces of bloodstained armor sank into the soft mattress. His eyes fell to the clothing in his arms and trailed up to Robin. 

He was asking for confirmation. 

“No,” Robin replied, holding out the shirt he’d picked up. “Keep those! Actually, put them on. You...you know how to dress yourself, right?” He knew how to undress, at least. 

Chrom flinched back when Robin held an arm out to him. His eyes locked onto the shirt, which he swiftly accepted. And at Robin’s order, recognition flashed in his eyes. 

“Dress...dress…” He opened the shirt and tugged it on, right over that ugly wound. 

Robin breathed a sigh of relief. So he didn’t have to teach Chrom how to dress and undress, at least. But...now that he thought about it...how was he going to bring Chrom to the men’s baths? This was Chrom, so no one should be suspicious...but at the same time, he was expected to undress, and reveal that fatal wound. And he had gray skin and glowing red eyes. And he treated Robin like a master…everyone would know there was something with him. 

But...wait. If this was Chrom, and he was dead and converted into a Risen, why wasn’t the entire palace in uproar? Surely, if the lord of the castle was dead, the guards would have secured the area, the people would be panicking, Lissa would be at his door! But the morning was practically silent. He was left entirely to his own. 

And this was after Plegia had just declared war on them. Everyone should be on high alert. So why weren’t they? 

Chrom finished dressing himself and raised his head. “Dressed. Lord Grima. Your command?” 

Robin blinked as he was pulled from his thoughts. He looked at Chrom, at his glowing red eyes, at his pale skin. This...this wasn’t Chrom. It couldn’t be. How had it even come into existence?

Well...one problem at a time. He couldn’t stand being in this stinking room much longer. And if this was Chrom, then he needed to at least make him presentable to show to Emmeryn and Lissa. He’d have to take him to the baths. The pale skin and red eyes would be a problem, but he’d manage. 

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, glancing around the room. He did have a few spare cloaks in the closet, though none truly like the one they’d found him in. They were simple purple and black, lined with opposing colors and gold. It would have to do. 

He already knew that Chrom wouldn’t give him a definite answer for what kind he’d want, so Robin selected a black one to match his garments. He held it out, sizing Chrom up. It’d fit, maybe be a bit small, but it’d fit. 

“Alright, hold still,” he commanded as he stepped over, gritting his teeth to prevent himself from gagging. Chrom’s stiff gaze followed him as he draped it over his shoulders and pulled his arms through the sleeves. It was only when he tried to flip the hood up that he showed any objection to it. As if it had struck him, Chrom flipped the hood back and snarled, glaring behind him as if some hidden foe was lurking there.

“Whoa! Hey, it’s okay, there’s nothing that’s going to hurt you!” Robin placed a hand to Chrom’s cheek and smiled at him. “I need you to wear this, alright? Please let me put it on.”

Chrom blinked. “Put...on…” He echoed and grit his teeth. Robin flipped the hood up, hiding his red eyes, and stepped back. 

Perfect. Chrom still looked a little pale, but he’d manage. So long as no one looked too close. 

“Alright! We’re set!” He declared, and reached out to take Chrom’s hand. “Try to keep a low profile, alright?” 

Chrom nodded. “Low...low…” He lowered his head and followed Robin’s lead. 

Fresh air blew in as Robin opened the door, a welcome cleansing breath. He practically gulped it down, managing his nausea with it, and peeked out. No guards in sight. No one in sight, actually. His luck was through the roof as he lead the way out. 

Chrom shrank from the light. The only shadows available were from the fences, and he almost seemed to shrink himself down trying to hide in them. But with Robin’s goading he kept a proper pace, even if occasional whines and grunts managed to escape from him. 

The baths the Shepherds used were by their training area. Since they stayed in Ylisse and were lead by Chrom himself, their baths were near the castle. With a bit of sneaking, Robin would be able to find their barracks, and from there the baths. The problem was getting to the barracks. Robin wasn’t too used to sneaking, and he had a mysterious cloaked figure with him too. What would he do if he ran into some--

They turned a corner and came face to face with two guards. Robin practically jumped, Chrom’s tightening grip the only thing grounding him. 

“Why, why hello there!” He waved swiftly. “How’s guard duty today?”

The guards regarded him with a look of confusion and suspicion. Their eyes trailed up Chrom, taking in his dark form. 

“Uh...this is my, uh...my apprentice!” Robin improvised, giving them a smile. “Poor fellow is shy! So, uh, if you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way! Do you, uh, know where the baths are?” 

One of them pointed towards a break in the fence. A cobblestone path started, gave way to dirt, and branched off in several directions. Robin recognized the Shepherds barracks not too far away. 

“Thanks!” He rushed out of there with Chrom, who copied his movements as best he could. He felt the guard’s eyes on him as they headed down the dirt path and straight to the barracks. Robin saw more than a few soldiers out training, most of whom barely gave them a glance. Together, they made it to the baths rather unnoticed. 

The problem was the baths themselves. More than a few soldiers were already in them, cleaning their sweat off from morning drills. Robin hung in the back with Chrom, who stared blankly over them before focusing on Robin. 

Awkward silence pervaded between the two of them. Silently, Robin wished he had his own private bath, but he wasn’t royalty, and he doubted that Chrom as he was would make it past any guards. So he waited, the strange urchin in the corner of the room, until the morning had passed and the baths were finally empty of prying eyes. 

They’d have to be fast. Robin himself didn’t think he needed too much cleaning, he’d be in and out, but Chrom? Chrom would need far more than just a dip. He stripped as quickly as he could, Chrom copying his actions, and lead him into the lukewarm waters. 

Chrom’s pulsing wound was exposed for the world to see, and the world had turned its eyes away. As he stepped into the empty pool, he looked over it curiously, swished a hand through the water and raised it to his face. Red eyes rose to Robin’s face, searched for answers and commands. 

“Bathe,” Robin instructed, making use of one of the brushes he’d picked up as they walked in. “We need to get you cleaned up!” Even here, the smell of dead flesh was powerful. Robin was growing used to it, but he was sure if anyone else was present, they’d gag. 

Chrom watched Robin rub his arm. The exalt mark on his shoulder had noticeably faded, as if death had tried to destroy it. It was there he paused, and glanced up into Chrom’s eyes. 

Gods, what had happened to Chrom? Who was the ‘Grima’ who had turned him into this slave? Why had they erased him as an exalt, transformed him into a Risen? And...if they truly existed...where were they?

“Chrom…” he whispered, lowering the brush and gripping his arm. “I...it might be too late, but...I’ll find whoever did this to you…! I’ll fix you, I promise!” And he wrapped both his arms around Chrom’s bare chest, squelching his head onto the fatal wound as he held Chrom tight.

To his great surprise, Chrom hugged him back. Robin glanced up, undead blood dripping down his cheek, focusing on those dead eyes. They made eye contact, and the world seemed to pause.

It was over when Robin took a rancid breath of undead reek. He coughed and pushed back, Chrom releasing him slowly, and coughed to cleanse his lungs. 

Alright, maybe he shouldn’t press his head to Chrom’s chest. At least nausea didn’t manage to overcome him again, and he picked up right where he’d left off cleaning Chrom. He remained stiff as a mannequin, only his eyes following Robin’s movements.

Despite the smell, he enjoyed himself while he did so, running his hands over Chrom’s pecs and arms and abs. He cast a glance downwards, pondering scrubbing his nethers, when a sudden snapping alerted Robin to another presence. His head shot up, Chrom’s dead gaze following.

A figure was slinking off into the trees. Did he recognize that blonde hair? A sudden fear seized in his chest, what if they’d seen them?!

“Chrom, stay in the pool,” he commanded, stepping out of the water. If whoever that was had seen them, they’d sure been quiet about the presence of a Risen. He likely didn’t have to give fierce chase--but still, he should be sure they were safe. So Robin wrapped a towel around his waist and sneaked after whoever he’d seen running off. 

Unfortunately, his luck had run out when he finally caught up with the perpetrator. He was right, he did recognize that blonde hair. Vaike, Chrom’s ‘rival’. And if he was snooping around the bath areas again, it meant only one thing. 

Robin sighed as he remembered his towel. Was he really going to do this now, half naked and with a Risen to protect?

He heard feminine voices nearby and decided that yes, he was. He stalked after Vaike, ensuring that he stayed out of sight, waiting for him to settle down so he could step out and begin confrontation. It lead him to a small grove, a cluster of trees and shrubs, which grew thick enough to hide a man. But even so, they had their gaps, and those gaps would serve as perfect peepholes for a pervert. He waited until he saw Vaike settle before stepping out.

But the moment he left his cover, he became aware of a hot, heavy breathing on his neck. At first, Robin suspected Chrom had followed him. And then he remembered: Chrom didn’t have breath. Not anymore. 

He whipped around just in time to avoid a snap for his hair. There was a horse looming over him, white in color with demon energy leaping in its eyes. Oh, gods. 

Sully’s horse. 

“GODS HELP ME!” He shrieked as he took off, completely forgetting about his original mission as he tried to outrun the demon from hell. 

He didn’t know what path he took. The bushes were there one moment and were gone the next. The trees whipped past. He heard his feet pounding and the horse shrieking behind him. It was gaining on him every second. A bend in the path showed him a familiar sight: the baths. They were still empty. 

Empty. Chrom was gone. If his heart wasn’t pounding so hard he’d feel cold. Robin dove for them, praying his final lunge wouldn’t be his last. 

He hit the ground too hard to hear the angry shrieking turn to fear, but he certainly did hear the gurgles. The gurgles and the growling. The bubbling of blood as it gargled in a dead throat and splatted onto the ground. 

He’d landed in the dirt, just outside of the baths. The horse would’ve trampled him had it not been stopped. His pounding chest felt cold as he raised himself on his elbows to see the perpetrator. 

Chrom, completely naked and dripping water, had knocked the horse to the ground. With one hand he had pinned its chest, with the other its face. It had been kicking wildly, indicated by the dirt thrown up and onto his dead body. But it was useless. The life had drained, right out of the deep bite mark he saw on its throat. No, not just one. There were dozens. Chrom’s mouth was dripping with blood, spilling down his chin and over his chest. As Robin watched, he gurgled again, spat out a fat clump of tissue, and dug his teeth in again. 

“Chrom, no, wait!” He cried, but it was too late. With the rising of his head he brought thin strands of muscle and bloodied clumps of fur. Robin flinched back, trying not to gag. “Chrom...why? Why would you…”

He stood stiffly, marched right up to him, and kneeled. “Danger. Against Lord Grima. I will...destroy. All.”

Robin couldn’t break eye contact. He didn’t want to look at the dead horse. All that he could see was Chrom’s bloody face, Chrom’s glowing red eyes, and realize, this wasn’t Chrom. This couldn’t be Chrom. This wasn’t what he wanted.

“Chrom…” he muttered, brushing a bit of blue hair out of his eyes. “I…”

“WHOA! Gods, what happened here?!” 

Chrom roared and bolted up, taking a defensive stance before Robin. Over by the treeline, with horror stricken eyes turned on the corpse, was Vaike. And when Chrom turned, he backed away even more. 

“Chr-Chrom?!”

Robin didn’t even think when he spoke his next command. 

“Stop him.”

And his Risen was off.


End file.
